Addicted
by Fred-Weasley-Isn't-Dead
Summary: Ellie Nash was a lot of things: A cutter, drummer, crazy, in love. But there was one thing she'd never been: Suicidal. Until now. Trigger warning: Self-harm, attempted suicide.


_Day one. _I tell myself. One day since he left. I've resorted to calling him "_He"_. It pained me to say his names One day and I was doing just fine. After all, it was only for what, a year? I could handle it, with Marco and Paige. I could survive this. I would be just fine. I kicked my addiction to him a while ago. He is not going to reign over my feelings anymore. It was gonna be me. After all, I'd gotten over Jesse faster than anything. He, though, he was a different story. I craved him from the bottom of my heart to the scars on my arm. I longed to have him, to be his and to have him mine. I hated the idea that he was with one of the people that knew how much he meant to me and she still went. The fact that they were probably dating and kissing as I write this. I hate her, the girl that used to be my best friend. The girl who turned herself goth to befriend and find solace in me after her "_best friend"_ ditched her. I think it was because she took ecstasy or something else because it was all because one of her "_friends"_ told her to lighten up and have some fun. I wish she didn't take the fucking pill. Stay suppressed and never actually meet him. It would make life better for me and she'd still have her friends and everyone would be so fucking happy. Half of me is torn between calling her a bitch and the other half wants to find what made her a friend to me and bring it up to the surface again. Reclaim her as my friend. Not the friend of those girls who are just her friend so they could say, _"Oh, I'm friends with Ashley Kerwin."_

_Day two. _It's been two days since he left and I started considering a thing of sleeping pills. I mull over it in front of the drug store. I don't tell anybody. Paige would go ballistic like last time when she caught me cutting myself. Marco would call the suicide hot-line and I'd end up in a straight jacket. No way. I just kept to myself and put on a mask whenever they were around. I'm surprised they didn't see right through it. Marco, who knew me better than anyone on the planet, besides him, couldn't tell I was hiding everything. I found a pair of scissors and nicked them from Paige's desk. I don't think she had another pair, but I wasn't ready to commit suicide yet. I'd resort to cutting again. I locked myself in the bathroom, and bent over the sink, digging the scissors into my arm. The skin broke and the ruby red blood started oozing out. I looked at it with satisfaction. The knowledge that I had control over my pain again had me dragging the blade across my arm several more time, until I had a good stream of blood going. Someone knocked at the door. I hurriedly flushed the toilet and brought my arm down below the faucet and ran the cool water to rinse off the blood. I shoved the scissors down my boot. Getting my hands wet and shoving paper towels up my sleeve to clot the bleeding, I opened the door and crossed my arms before running out of the bathroom. I made it all the way to my room when I realized something. I was fairly certain I'd left a few drops of blood in the sink. I prayed to God Marco wouldn't notice. I shrugged it off and opened my laptop, checking out the airplane ticket that's leaving tomorrow at seven am. It would be hell to get up that early but it was the only flight to Britain that day and I needed to go. I pressed the buy button. I wasn't so worried about the cost. It wouldn't matter to me.

_Day three. _Today is the day I fly to Europe. Today is the day I would overdose on sleeping pills in his dressing room and die. Today is the day he would find me and realize what he did to me. Today is the last day of my life. I tell Marco and Paige that I was flying to Europe. I give them both a hug and they advise me to stay safe. Marco pulls me aside and confronts me about the blood in the sink, asking me if I was cutting again. I give him a kiss on the cheek and tell him it won't matter soon. He looks at me with a puzzled face, but I refuse to tell him, insisting it's nothing. I grab my bags and head out of the door, to the airport. I start crying a bit, thinking about how much I would miss them. Paige, who I've had my ups and downs with since the day we met and Marco, who was always there for me, I think I'd miss him most out of everybody. I pretended to be his girlfriend and in return I got a best friend after Ashley ditched me. The flight is long. I slip on my headphones and try to pretend that I'm not a psychotic suicidal girl who's going to let her one love find her dead. Meh. People are so imperceptive. They wouldn't notice a thing. I listen to the silence as the flight drags on. Once we land I rent a car and drive to Big Ben. I've always wanted to visit and just bask in its glory. I buy a ticket for the London Eye, even though I was afraid of heights. I try not to panic as I remind myself of one thing: I'm afraid of death, too. By the time his show starts, I find his dressing room with ease, just following the line of fan girls going the other way. His dressing room is unguarded. I wander around, looking at all the little knicknacks and do-dads that lined the shelves of the room. I help myself to a plush seat and wait in nervousness and anticipation. His show ends in three minutes and I knew he wasn't popular enough to get an encore. I quickly popped the pills and washed it down with a sip of water and waited for him to return and find me dead. I soon became unconscious and all I remembered were voices calling my name before the black took over me.

_Day four. _What the hell? I was supposed to be dead. My eyes fluttered and I saw his face looking down at me with a scared and sort of furious face.

"Ellie." He sighed with relief, hugging me carefully. "What the fuck were you thinking? You had me scared shitless," he told me, his voice stern since he could afford to be stern, now that I was okay.

I didn't answer. Instead I vomited into an ugly little pink pail. "What happened?" I asked groggily.

"I found you, unconscious on my chair with a bottle of sleeping pills on the table in front of you. So I called an ambulance and had you submitted to the hospital, where they pumped your stomach and that is why you feel the need to puke," he explained. "My turn: Why?"

I shrugged. I didn't have an answer.

"Elle, please tell me what you were thinking," he begged.

"Nothing was going right for me. First you leave for Europe then you and Ashley start dating and th-"

"Whoa," he cut me off. "Ashley and I aren't dating. We both agree that if we dated and broke up on tour it'd be too awkward. Besides, she's not my type." He smiles as I look u[ into his eyes. "I like the redhead goth girl." He leans in and kisses me, not caring that I probably tasted like vomit. It last more than a few seconds and I know he can hear my heart monitor going wild. "Oh, and...you need to call Marco."

I glare up at him. "You told him?"

Instead of responding, Craig grabs my arm and rolls up my sleeve and explains. "Marco told me he found blood in the sink after you left the bathroom." I pull my scarred arm back and shove the sleeve back into place. "I'm not letting you out of my sight again Ellie. Not until we kick this addiction to suicide and cutting."

I smile grimly. "I was supposed to have kicked my addiction to you." It was true. I was addicted to him. He was like a drug.

"Well. That's the only addiction I hope you never get rid of." He smirks, kissing me once more and smiles.


End file.
